Of Wings and Shackles
by Crescent Venus
Summary: Libby Chessler remembers the first time she met Sabrina Spellman...because it marked her first failure, and her first encounter with the girl's strange power... [oneshot]


This is a companion, parallel piece to "Beautiful Stranger." It's set sometime after Sabrina's junior year, once Libby left for boarding school. Libby muses about her former arch-rival, and their odd relationship. Standard disclaimers apply—I still don't own Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, am not profiting from this fic, blah blah…

* * *

I used to think about you a lot. Not just in any one place: in the lunch line, while shopping, in algebra class, even in my _bathtub_. No matter what I did or told myself, I couldn't rid myself of your offending presence.

Not that I found you to be revolting, exactly. It's just that I didn't—and don't, still—like thinking, a lot. I prefer to remain on autopilot, to move about life in a robotic fashion, doing things the way I'm told. It's so much easier to be the model daughter than to have to make all those complicated decisions _other_ people do.

I liked having my life planned out: cheerleading captain, class president, Prom Queen, valedictorian (_if_ I pulled my B's and C's up, which would probably never happen; Daddy doesn't care as long as I'm passing, and that Rhinehart kid would probably win, anyway), college for…something… (I'm not very picky), and then some nice, easy job in Daddy's company until I find someone appropriate.

And then…_**you**_ came…

You were different. You insisted on doing things _your_ way, not catering to anything else. There was this aura of power around you… you had confidence, maybe because of this power. No matter what happened, you rolled with the punches and still came out happy: on your terms with whatever had happened, pleased somehow, as if things had really gone your way.

I was envious. Who wouldn't be? Yes, you were odd. But because of that power you held, it was somehow justified. It was _right_ for you to be that way. And I coveted that power. I wanted that self-assurance that you lived your life with. I wanted to be happy, no matter what happened to me. I lusted after that happy confidence.

I even was vindictive; I thought that if I robbed you of that power, that poise, that maybe we could be equals, in some strange way. Maybe I could claim that power for myself. But no matter what I did, no matter what I said, it didn't affect you.

It annoyed you, I'm sure of that. I may be below your oh-so-high standards of intelligence, but I can still see the looks of exasperation you give me, as if to say, "Not this **again**." Yet my words and deeds rolled off your shoulders like beads of water on a windowpane. While you were troubled temporarily with my spiteful intentions, you still walked about unscathed, with that cheery smile of yours.

How can you do that, I wonder? I made your life a living _hell_ at school (I'm sure Principal Kraft helped, too, of course), and yet you still came back, day after day.

Was that smile pasted on? Sometimes, I wonder…

But in the end, I return to the same conclusion: it's that strange power…that odd, cheerful confidence you own that buoyed you up in that sea of hostility I'd created. How can there be any other explanation?

When new kids entered our grade each year, I analyzed them with all the finesse of choosing the best puppy out of the litter. They fit into one of two categories: usable, and unusable. The ones who can be of some worth were immediately pulled into my group, molded and shaped into the image of what a model student _should_ be. The others were simply cast aside to be ignored, and ridiculed, if boredom called for such a necessity.

But you never fit into either category. At first glance, you weren't moldable material. I mean, honestly—the clothes you wore? The shoes you had the gall to wear with that shirt? It made me shudder. Beyond salvageable. But you wouldn't stay conveniently in the background, either. Every effort to put you back there failed miserably. No one had ever done that before.

And here I am now; I'll probably never see you again, but the impression you made on me simply can't be removed. Sabrina Spellman, you defy all known logic. You've left me with so many questions still unanswered. How did you manage all that? What **are** you? What is this strange power you hold, that lets you soar out of my grasp, out of everyone's grasp?

Is it wings?


End file.
